The Witches

There was no question back in 1990: The Witches would be scary. Adapted from a book by Roald Dahl, whose bitter sense of humor delighted in endangering human souls, the “children’s movie” was the brainchild of Nicolas Roeg, who had directed the chilling psychological thriller Don’t Look Now, and Jim Henson, who had his own dark streak after Labyrinth and The Storyteller. Clearly the pedigree did not dissuade anyone from showing their kids this movie — The Witches became a staple of ’90s youth. I have vivid memories of renting the VHS and fending off nightmares for weeks. The image of the Grand High Witch stripping away Anjelica Huston’s movie-star beauty to reveal craggy purple skin and a jagged nose that would make the Wicked Witch of the West wince was instantly iconic and horrifying.

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I assumed that, 30 years later, I was strong enough to brave Roeg’s dark fantasy. The movie could only go so hard without scarring children.

Well, I was wrong. The Witches is deeply effed up. And not just by the time we watch a convention hall full of witches transform two kids into mice. The very first seconds find the elderly Helga (Mai Zetterling) tucking her grandson Luke (Jasen Fisher) into bed, and lulling him to sleep with a horrific story about a little girl kidnapped off the streets in broad daylight. Good night, kiddo!

The combination of Dahl’s bleak plot turns, from the offscreen death of Luke’s parents to a witch who lures the grieving young boy out of his treehouse with the promise of a pet snake, Roeg’s in-your-face camerawork and Henson’s creature effects make every second of The Witches unencumbered, gleeful torture. Huston and her fleet of bald sorceresses (a few played by stodgy men, who probably disappeared in the crowds in the pre-HD days) hold up as much as my childhood memories would hope. The half-human/half-mouse animatronics are somehow even more gruesome. How was this allowed??? I’m so glad it was allowed.